Seth Johnson and the Goblet of Fire (Remake)
by Gehenna79
Summary: A re-attempt at a story I started a while ago, to make it flow better. An American wizard goes to Hogwarts to perform in the Tri-Wizard Tournament at the same time as Harry Potter. (AU Obviously). Can he overcome cultural differences and being placed in one house to be able to make friends and win the cup?


**Seth Johnson and the Goblet of Fire**

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**A/N: This is a remake of a story I started a long time ago, but didn't like the direction. This one will start right at Hogwarts, and use dialogue to convey information about Seth as opposed to the original four or five huge chapters of backstory that were originally set to take place. Now, the reader can get right to Hogwarts right from the get go. Thanks for reading.**

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Have you ever been a complete outsider? Not just a person that lacks a certain perspective or an "in" with a certain group, but a person who has no knowledge of how an entire nation, nay, race, of people think and feel? To the point that your ways and views are so alien to them that they might even question that you aren't even human? That you might have more in common with a magical creature?

I have.

I knew I was the moment I walked into the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a foreign exchange student brought in to participate in a decidedly...European affair. I was the first ever American to do this. I was probably not the first ever American to ever step foot in that hall but...you wouldn't have known that by the way I was stared at.

It was probably the way I was dressed. That probably didn't help matters any. Here, you have a bunch of teenagers dressed up in old-fashioned robes, still living the memories of the old days of magic, and then you have me, Seth Johnson, from Boston, Massachusetts, dressed in a black Megadeth t-shirt and dark blue jeans. My teacher and escort, Mr. Huxley, had warned that British wizards enjoyed a certain...disconnect from the world of the mundanes, (er, Muggles, if you prefer). That is not the case in America. Magic is something we learn so we can disguise ourselves better. American culture and magic exist as one, not so bipartisan as it is in England.

I walked down the hall, holding my head up high, and trying to ignore the looks, to ignore the whispers. I could see that Mr. Huxley was looking somewhat uncomfortable with himself. He was wearing a pea-green turtle-neck, which is usual for him, and his square-rimmed glasses. He is a bald man with a goatee, and a crooked nose. He couldn't have looked any different from the Headmaster of Hogwarts, a man everybody knew from History class, but nobody really thought of in a real sense: Albus Dumbledore.

Boy, was he a sight. A man in a spangled robes, with a long nose and ancient spectacles, a long, flowing white beard and two twinkling blue eyes ever pressed with amusement. What a character! And to look at some of the others, a stern looking woman in attire that seemed out of Shakespeare, a huge giant of a man with a bushy, black beard and a mangy coat, a greasy, black-haired man with a hooked nose and a malevolent stare, and of course, a big toad of a man with multiple scars across his face, and a weird prosthetic eye that whizzed about like it was off its rocker.

You wouldn't find odder wizards in any comic book devised by any mundane higher than a rocket-ship.

"Ah, glad to see you have made it," beamed Dumbledore, looking straight at me and Mr. Huxley.

Being a man of considerable tact and social grace, I replied with an outstretched hand and somewhat stuttered, "How do you do?"

"I do well, thank you very much so for asking. And Mr. Huxley, its been far too long."

"Dumbledore, its good to see you as well," they shared an awkward embrace, though I would say it was far more awkward for Mr. Huxley than it was for Dumbledore. I tried not to stifle a laugh, when I saw the reaction of a blonde-haired boy over on some table to the side mimic vomiting.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Dumbledore boomed sonorously out to the crowd of young witches and wizards, "Tonight we bring forth a special guest from abroad, that has come here for the purpose of not only participating in the Tri-wizard cup, but also hopefully educating us about what life is like for people of magic across the ocean, his name, is..."

He gestured to me to introduce myself and I replied firmly, "Seth Johnson."

"Seth Johnson, from Salem Preparatory in Salem, Massachusetts. An old, prestigious, American school who has put out some fantastic witches and wizards in its day, and we look forward to sharing much of our experiences with."

I said nothing. Dumbledore continued then, and asked me, "Master Seth, are you at all familiar with the rite of the Sorting Hat?"

I had indeed read a little bit on the peculiar customs in Hogwarts, so I nodded, "Yes, it sorts you into what house you belong to."

"Right, but how it does this is quite interesting, as you will see for yourself," he snapped his fingers, and the hat levitated over nearby me, "For you see, we have to know where to place you. You are all alone of course, and it would be an interesting experiment to see where you will fit among our population."

_You really going to make me do this?_

"Alright, I guess we'll find out," I gulp some air down, and take a seat to a stool that is brought out for me.

I look at the hat. Its old, ragged, and a bit dumpy. It will look ludicrous, sitting on my head in front of all these...people. But I suppose I have to go through it. This will be the first of many challenges to come, no doubt.

The hat is slowly placed on my head. And suddenly, I feel a tingle of cold reach into my hair, and I hear it speak! What a wondrous enchantment! It says, "Ah. Foreign talent. Very interesting, very interesting," it mulls over its word, as if it enjoys the very privelige of being able to speak. It probably doesn't get to very often, being a hat.

"You've come a long way, and you've both dreaded and looked forward to this moment. There's a certain courage about you, but its not to the point of foolish bravado like some...I could mention. There's intelligence here definitely, not afraid of toil no, and...a thirst to prove yourself, to find yourself the awe, the center of the collective's attention, and it will take you far...oh yes, it will, but where to put you?"

_I'll take the one with the hottest girls please, _I think to myself, not comprehending that the hat can hear that.

The hat barks a laugh, "Really? That's the one thing you can think of while being appraised like this. Thank your stars that I am not a cruel hat..."

"Alright, you've had a good long minute, mister," I reply back, "Think you got enough?"

"Hm. I think that pretty much settles that score then. You'll belong greatly in...SLYTHERIN!"

Mr. Huxley goes pale, though I don't know why. Dumbledore's smile seems to lessen, and the applause is somewhat faded, except for a table of on average, mean-looking kids in green and black over at the far side of the table, the one where the blonde-haired boy had been mocking Dumbledore and Mr. Huxley.

They were the House dedicated to cunning, to ambition. Wasn't that a good thing?


End file.
